


After Hours

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: Continuum (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Female Friendship, First Kiss, Gift Fic, Misses Clause Challenge, Missing Scene, My First Work in This Fandom, Negotiations, POV Third Person Omniscient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag/missing scene for S4E2.  Kiera and Garza are left to clean up after dinner, but that's okay: they've got unfinished business with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyrilu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Thanks for giving me the impetus to finally get around to writing in Continuum (and to watch S4, which I hadn't realized was out yet :) ).
> 
> Thanks to china_shop for beta! Any remaining errors are mine.

Almost as soon as everyone’s lifting forks to their mouths, Emily gets up and leaves the dinner table. Alec follows a moment later, and neither of them comes back. The others tactfully pretend not to notice until Garza, reaching past their empty places to grab the salad bowl, jerks her head at the two untouched meals with a suggestive smirk. 

“Lovebirds. Can’t keep their hands off each other long enough to eat.”

Lucas smiles and elbows Julian, who grimaces. Jason ducks his head over his plate, his hair flopping into his eyes as he carefully separates his vegetables from his pasta, arranging them by size around the rim of his plate. Kiera shoots Garza a frown that’s more worried than disapproving and passes the dressing, too, before Garza can make another grab.

“So, Lucas, I hear you’ve been kicking Alec’s butt at, uh. . .” Kiera hesitates long enough for Lucas to fill in the name of the game, which he does, launching into a detailed description of their latest match, with digressions to explain gameplay every time Kiera gives him a blank look. Soon Julian and Jason are chiming in with commentary, talking over each other, Jason’s moping and Julian’s habitual sullenness washed away in the tide of enthusiastic geekery. Kiera keeps the conversation rolling with leading questions when she can get a word in edgewise. Slouched comfortably back in her chair, Garza watches in amused silence as she nurses a third beer.

Inevitably, the gaming talk devolves into challenges being issued, and the three men abandon their dirty plates to troop downstairs to the room that Alec has filled with computers for Jason to tinker with. Kiera clears the table, stacks dishes and cutlery by the sink, and then opens every cabinet in the kitchen, most of which contain either brand-new cooking implements, a few boxes of packaged food, or nothing at all.

“What do they use to store leftovers in this time period?” she mutters in mostly-joking exasperation.

“Don’t ask me,” Garza drawls. “We didn’t exactly make it a priority to research rich-people kitchens. Just leave it in the bowl.”

“It needs to be covered.” Kiera frowns at a box of Ziploc bags. “We use these for crime scenes, but the picture on the box. . .are they really for _food?_ ”

“Landfills. Everything’s disposable,” Garza reminds her.

Shaking her head, Kiera transfers the leftover garlic bread into a bag.

“Why are you even doing that?” Garza asks. “Make the boys clean up their own mess.”

“Alec and Julian cooked, they’ve done their share.” Kiera gives her a pointed look, but Garza just leans back farther and drains the last drops of her beer.

“Funny how the actual teenagers are more responsible than some of the so-called adults around here,” she says. “Maybe that’s how they ended up running everything in our time.”

“Jason’s survived on his own in the past longer than any of us. He knows how to take care of himself.”

“And how to get other people to take care of him.”

“You don’t think he deserves it, after what he’s been through?”

“Hey, we’ve all been through shit,” says Garza, as she gets up and saunters into the kitchen area. “But fine, I’ll give you Jason. No excuses for Lucas, though. You haven’t lived with him.”  

“Dirty glasses all over the place?”

“Glasses, plates, socks. . .you name it.” Garza sets her empty bottle down on the counter, gathers up the unopened ones, and carries them to the fridge, apparently oblivious to the startled smile Kiera shoots at her back. “It’s like he refuses to believe that, in the real world, objects don’t change state unless someone actually touches them. Or he figures if people think he thinks that, they’ll just give up and pick up after him.”

Kiera rolls her eyes. “You can tell he was never in the military.”

Garza snorts. “Wouldn’t last a day.”

“My husband always claimed he didn’t know how to cook,” says Kiera as she sets the spaghetti pot in the larger sink. “I tried to teach him, he burned everything. I was never sure he didn’t just ruin things deliberately, to prove he was incapable, so I’d have to do all the cooking.” As she talks, her smile fades into a sad, lost look.

“You let him get away with that?” asks Garza as she ferries the bagged leftovers to the fridge.

“When you’re married, you learn to choose your battles,” says Kiera shortly. Water rushes into the pot; she squirts in soap, but then just stares down at the resulting foam. Garza looks over at her, clocking the hunched shoulders, the bent head, the face hidden behind long hair, and closes her mouth on her rejoinder.

Instead, she reaches under Kiera’s arm to snag a sponge, and starts wiping down the counters as she jokes, “Well, points to the boy genius, not trying to pull that crap on Little Miss Assassin-for-Hire. She’d kick his ass into next week.”

“They’ve got bigger things to worry about right now,” says Kiera, glancing towards the stairs where Emily and Alec disappeared at the beginning of dinner.

Garza raises her eyebrows suggestively.

Kiera frowns at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” says Garza cheerfully. “Hey, you think the old guy remembers how to boil pasta? Where we came from?”

Making a visible effort to echo her bantering tone, Kiera answers, “I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s a pretty hands-on kind of guy.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Garza licks her lips provocatively.

“You know, you have a one-track mind,” Kiera snaps.

“Actually, I don’t,” says Garza. “But you could use a sense of humor.”

“Some things aren’t funny.”

“Sure,” Garza agrees. “But sex is, a lot of the time. And you know what? It’s more fun if you can laugh about it.”

Kiera’s jaw tightens, but instead of retorting, she takes a breath, lets it out and shakes her head.

“Yeah, that hasn’t exactly been an option lately,” she says softly.

“Then maybe you should find some better options.” Garza’s tone is teasing, but when Kiera glances up, her eyes are caught by Garza’s steady gaze. Kiera’s next breath is sharp, loud in the silence. Garza’s eyes widen in response, but she doesn’t move a muscle, and the moment stretches out as they keep looking into each other’s eyes.

It’s Kiera who finally ends it, turning slowly away to the sink as she shakes her hair back over her shoulders. Garza leans against the counter, watching her pretend she still has something to clean.

“We go get Travis,” Garza says. “Not negotiable.” Her tone is quiet, but there’s combat-ready tension visible in her lounging pose.

“Travis is in police custody,” Kiera replies levelly.

“I broke out of there before, it’s not so hard. Didn’t even have help.”

“Well, then, I guess Travis can rescue himself.”

“You know, I could have killed you this afternoon.”

“You certainly gave it a good try.” Kiera’s voice is hard as she turns to face Garza.

“I told you, Kellog was the target, you were in the way. But I didn’t blow your brains out in the car.”

“And I brought you home to—”

“Meet the family?”

“They’re not—” Kiera breaks off, blinking and frowning.

Head cocked to one side, Garza watches her turn to consider the dinner table with its seven placemats. As if on cue, a muffled burst of male laughter sounds from downstairs; Kiera’s eyes track in that direction, then up towards the second floor.

“I guess. . .that’s what they are.” She looks shaken. “I never thought. . .in 2014. Family.”

She gives Garza a considering look, but before she can say anything more, Garza bares her teeth in a mocking smile.

“That’s serious stuff, you know. Meeting the family. Mean you’re finally gonna put out for me?”

Taken aback, Kiera doesn’t manage to respond before Garza steps in—close enough to grab, to stab, not quite close enough to kiss—boxing her in against the counter. She blinks but stands firm, meeting Garza’s eyes.

“You know, one of these days someone’s going to call one of your bluffs,” she says evenly.

“Who said I was bluffing?” Garza purrs, leaning in so close that breath is all that separates her mouth from Kiera’s cheek, so close that there’s barely room to slide a piece of paper between their bodies, but not touching at any point. Backed up against the counter with her hands braced behind her, Kiera refuses to flinch or sidle away, but her body gets more and more rigid.

“See, this is how we’re different, you and me,” Garza says, soft and steely. “I’m not ashamed of what I get off on, or what I believe in. I know what I want and what price I’m willing to pay, and I do what needs to be done. And I never start anything unless I’m prepared to follow through.”

“And you don’t care who gets hurt or killed along the way, as long as you get what you want,” Kiera retorts, her jaw clenched.

“Hey, nothing’s free,” Garza counters as Kiera pushes past her and retreats to the far corner of the kitchen. “You want to change the world, you’ve gotta be willing to—”

“Yeah, but you like it,” Kiera fires back at her. “Killing. That’s what really turns you on.”

“You have no fucking clue what turns me on, Protector. I’m good at what I do, and that makes me happy, yeah. Same as you. Only I don’t lie to myself about it.”

“I kill when I have to. I don’t _enjoy_ it.”

“You like winning. You like being on top. Putting other people down. Having the power to do that. Power of life and death, power to spill blood and shatter bone—”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Kiera snarls. “Don’t you dare tell me what I like.”

Garza turns away, disgust twisting her mouth. But she doesn’t leave; like Kiera, she stays within the invisible boundaries of the open-plan kitchen. She leans one fist against the counter, her back to Kiera.

“Travis was the one who wanted to keep you alive, you know. He thinks you’re showing potential. Waking up.”

“Well, that’s great, because all my life, the one thing I’ve always wanted was Travis Verta’s approval.”

“Hey, this is your party, you’re the one who wants us all holding hands and working together against the common enemy. Or maybe you just want us all looking the other way while you cut and run.”

“I want to stop Kellog and keep that future from happening as much as you do,” Kiera protests.

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” says Garza, turning to face her again. “That’s easy. But what happens after that? You going to commit to this time, this place, this new history? _Our_ legacy for those who come after us? Because I promise you, you send yourself back to the future, you might not like where you end up.”

“I meant what I said,” says Kiera tightly. “But give me a break, for God’s sake. You think it’s easy for me to give up my son? Never see him again?”

“You think you’re the only person who ever lost somebody?” Glaring, Garza advances on Kiera again, halting just inside punching range. “Travis will never see his wife and kid again, either. You think you’re the only one making a _sacrifice?_ Kagame and Sonya gave their _lives_ for the chance of a better future. So you’ll never see your kid again? Well, I’m sorry—no, actually, I really am sorry about that. But you’re a soldier: you know the drill. Suck it up and move forward. And be grateful you’ve got people to come home to. That’s a lot more than most of us get.”

Garza’s voice cracks a little at the end, but she keeps glaring at Kiera, her arms crossed over her chest. Kiera stares at her, astonished at first, but then a thoughtful frown creeps over her face and she nods slowly.

She takes one step forward, clasps Garza’s bicep; Garza makes no move to shake her off.

“We’ll get Travis back,” Kiera promises. “But we’ll do it my way. No violence, no hurting anyone, no killing cops.”

“So what, you’re going to waltz in there and bat your eyelashes and ask them nicely to hand over the big bad terrorist?” Garza mutters, her sarcasm undercut by the wary hope in her eyes.

“More or less.”

“And when that doesn’t work?”

“Carlos will listen to me,” says Kiera.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll figure out another way. You, me, Alec, Jason, Julian, Emily, Lucas—you think we can’t come up with a clever plan?”

“I don’t think any of you give a shit about Travis,” says Garza.

“That’s true. . .but all of us have someone we’d refuse to leave behind.”

After searching Kiera’s face for a long moment, Garza grunts acknowledgement. Kiera lets go of her and takes a step back, but Garza stays still.

“You know your problem?” she says. “You don’t want to leave anyone behind. Your son, your backstabbing, alternate-future loverboy, your cop buddies—”

Kiera cuts her off. “You know when I said you’d told me that story about the flanking maneuver?”

“Right before I died, yeah.”

“We were breaking out of the Freelancers’ prison together. You were going to provide a distraction to let me get away so I could come back with the cops and shut them down.”

“Your idea?” Garza asks.

“Yours. But they got the drop on us.”

“Look, I already thanked you for springing me,” says Garza before Kiera can go on. “All I’m saying is, the table’s gonna get damn crowded. And one of these days, you’re not gonna be able to wiggle out of making the hard choices any more.”

“I know,” says Kiera. “I do. I just. . .the better future’s supposed to be better for everybody. That’s what makes it better. Right? The more blood we have to wade through to get there, the more people have to die. . .” She spreads out her palms, shaking her head. “The means matter, Garza. They’re _part_ of the ends.”

Garza stares at her, blank-faced, for a long moment, then drops her head, covering her eyes with one hand.

“Ah, fuck,” she breathes.

“What?” asks Kiera, concerned.

“You sound like someone I used to know. Back home. . .you know.” Garza shrugs, staring at the wall of night-mirrored windows as if she could see through to the outside. “Thought if we all just wished really hard, fairies would piss gold down out of the sky. If you let her talk long enough, you’d end up wanting. . .to do crazy shit. So she could keep on thinking it was just that easy.   So the stupid fucked-up world wouldn’t _win._ ”

“What happened to her?”

“Dead.”

After a moment of sympathetic silence, Kiera quietly offers, “Maybe not any more.”

“Maybe not.” There’s an uncharacteristic note of wonder in Garza’s voice, matched by the softness in her eyes as they briefly meet Kiera’s. Then she cracks her neck, shaking off the moment, and says gruffly, “Fine, we can try your way to spring Travis first. But if it doesn’t work—”

“Nobody kills anybody,” says Kiera. “Not unless we’ve exhausted all the other options. And I make that call. But we get him, one way or another.”

“Deal. And I make the call on when it’s time to cut Loverboy loose.”

“He’s on our side,” Kiera protests.

“Then it won’t be a problem, will it?” Garza shoots back.

Kiera flinches, but then sets her jaw and squares her shoulders. “Fine. Deal.”

“And we’re gonna have to kill Kellog sooner or later,” Garza adds. “You know we will. We don’t take him down permanently, he’ll just keep getting back up.”

Kiera sighs. “I know.”

“We can’t do this without some blood somewhere.”

“No, I know,” Kiera repeats, firmly. “I agree: we take him out. The future soldiers, too: they’re not going to negotiate or back down. But I say when.”

“You really do like being on top, don’t you?” There’s a teasing note in Garza’s voice, and the look Kiera shoots her is more a performance than real irritation.

“Do we have a deal?” asks Kiera.

“Yeah. It’s a deal.”

“Good.” Kiera extends her hand, and they shake on it. “You know, in the Freelancers’ prison, back in the other timeline, for about ten minutes there. . .we made a good team.”

“Shame I missed it,” Garza drawls, her mouth curving in a deliberate, lazy smile.

“Yeah,” says Kiera, looking her in the eyes. “It is.”

This time, the moment of eye contact stretches longer, hotter. This time, it’s Garza who moves first, stroking her thumb over the back of the hand still clasped in her own.

“So. . .I miss out on anything else from that other timeline?”

“Uh. It wasn’t really that kind of moment. And we were in a rush. Jailbreak, you know.”

“We’re not in a rush right now,” Garza points out. “No one trying to kill us. No mission.”

“That’s true,” says Kiera, then suddenly laughs. “And how often can we say that?”

Garza grins, Kiera’s smile deepens in response, and they’re caught again, smiling at each other’s smiles, until Kiera gets self-conscious.

“What?” she asks.

“I was right. You should laugh more. Looks good on you.”

Kiera’s mouth purses. Garza shakes her head with a snort of amusement, and Kiera quirks a rueful smile. Then she deliberately relaxes her mouth, letting her lips part slightly, and waits.

Slowly, Garza reaches up and traces Kiera’s lower lip with the ball of her thumb, her own smile growing as Kiera allows the touch.

“Wonder what you look like when you’re having fun,” Garza murmurs, sliding her hand around to cup Kiera’s jaw. “Wonder if I’m gonna find out.”

“Depends on how much fun you are,” Kiera deadpans.

“Depends on how much you can handle,” Garza teases.

Kiera raises her hands for the first time and sinks them both into Garza’s short, blonde hair. She takes a breath like a diver about to jump, then tugs Garza’s head forward to plant an emphatic kiss on her lips. Garza makes a noise that’s too appreciative to quite be laughter and rises up onto her toes to raise the ante on the kiss, twining Kiera’s long hair around each of her hands like a boxer’s tape.

When she tugs on the hair—not too hard, but enough for Kiera to feel it—Kiera pulls back a little, tilting her head and giving Garza a look that says, _You really want to mess with me?_ Garza’s mischievous grin says, _Bring it._

One hand still grasping the back of Garza’s head, Kiera lowers the other to trace the notched neckline of Garza’s soft, grey shirt, then trails her finger down between Garza’s breasts.

She hesitates, darting a glance towards the staircase.

“Wouldn’t want to shock the kiddies,” Garza sing-songs.

“They’re all grown-ups, they can handle it,” murmurs Kiera. “But we can take this upstairs. If you’re feeling shy.”

Garza just grins and arches her back a little.

Another diver-breath, her eyes never leaving Garza’s, and Kiera’s fingers trace the curve of a small breast, find the outline of metal under fabric and lightly grasp the nipple-bar.

Garza’s laughter rings out, bright and breathy, in the night-quiet house.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure this does solidly pass the Bechdel test, but goodness! -- turns out, they discuss (among other topics) 10 men and 3 women, one of whom is non-canonical! Which is largely an illustration of the (to me) unexpectedly male-dominated cast of recurring characters. Ah well: have some femslash. :)


End file.
